


the heart can be repossessed

by velvetine01



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-13
Updated: 2010-04-13
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetine01/pseuds/velvetine01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is shedding, leaving pieces of himself behind in every state. (A sorta coda to 5.14 and 5.16)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the heart can be repossessed

Sam is bending over to pick up the lid of his toothpaste when he notices it; in the tub, next to his empty shampoo bottle he sees Dean's ring sitting on the ugly yellowing ceramic. He takes a moment to consider it--surely, it's not an accident, because Dean may be careless with his life but objects have always meant something to him. He's worn this ring since he was seventeen, never taken it off for a hunt, let alone a shower, so this can only be deliberate.

He keeps staring at it for a moment, working the small, soft-bristled brush between his teeth. Picking it up is his best option, but Dean clearly doesn't want it. Sam spits in the sink and washes the froth down before packing up his toiletries. Afterward, after considering it for another long, confusing moment, he picks up the ring and slips it into his pocket.

They're tearing up the highway, heading southward down the coast and the ring has been burning a hole in Sam's pocket for the fourteen hours. He doesn't bring it up because he and Dean have barely said a word to each other in the last two days, and because if he does there will be an even longer silence for the foreseeable future. There's a pale band on Dean's ring finger where the sun never quite browned the skin.

Dean is cranky by the time they hit South Carolina, but he's pretending that everything is still fine. Sam can see through it, though, because if there's one thing he knows it's Dean's tells. His brother is switching tapes more often than necessary, cutting songs off halfway and skipping through them; he's tapping against the steering wheel with his ring finger but there's no ring on it, it's not making the right sound so he taps harder and faster; Dean's got his face carefully blank and that's the worst of all.

"We could stop," Sam says. He wants to get out of the car, stretch his legs and maybe take a nap.

Dean makes a show of considering it, deliberating it, but Sam knows he's tired too. In the end he nods wordlessly and takes the next exit he comes across.

*

Two days later and they've hit Alabama, driving inwards to the center of the continent. Things are still tense, but Sam has gotten Dean to talk to him, at least. The thing is Dean keeps shooting him these glances, keeps checking up on him like Sam is liable to change right in front of his eyes, to morph into an unknown shape, an unknown beast. Sam tries not to flinch and to chalk it up to Dean's being on edge, but it doesn't hurt any less.

He feels a lot better than he did immediately after his second spell in the panic room, though he often wakes up in the middle of the night, blood hot and painful in his veins like a hunger he can't satisfy. He hears it when Dean wakes up too, but Dean never says anything, just listens to Sam calm down. From across the room, Sam thinks he can feel Dean's fear bleeding into the space between them. He hates himself for it. He wonders if Dean has ever reached for the gun he keeps under the pillow.

Dean stops at a gas station and tells Sam to clean out the back seat while he fills up the tank and gets some food. Sam acquiesces, if only because he wants to give his hands something to do and he wants to show Dean that he's willing to lend a hand, that he's still his brother. They've not run into anything that needs taking care of, but Sam suspects that Dean manufactured this bout of luck, driving them away from anything potentially interesting.

He's got a garbage bag full of crap and he's just about to throw in one of Dean's old blood-stained wifebeaters when he stops to smell it. He can't help himself; it smells like Dean and like iron, and he feels his gut stirring with interest. They haven't touched each other in a year and Sam thinks he might never get to touch Dean again, not with the way Dean looks at him these days. The sad thing is, Sam is pretty sure he's okay with it, with never having Dean that way again, as long as he gets to ride shotgun, as long as he gets to have his brother in some capacity. He stuffs the wifebeater into his duffel and goes back to cleaning.

Something rattles in the footwell when he's picking up their empty water bottles. Peering down to see what it is, Sam sees a handful of wooden beads scattered on the floor. Moving aside the other trash, he finds a thing string and the rest of Dean's bracelet. He gathers it up and stuffs it into his back pocket just in time for Dean to come back and help finish up.

"We're pretty gross," he says, and when Sam looks up to meet Dean's eyes, he sees a small twitch in the corner of his brother's mouth. He wants to tell Dean to smirk, to be himself, but he just smiles back as best he can manage.

"_You're_ pretty gross. I throw my trash away, not into the back."

He sees Dean roll his eyes as he chucks an empty Twinkie wrapper into the bag.

*

Dean is shedding, he is leaving parts of himself behind in every state. Sam figures this out when some of the tapes go missing, and when they stop getting billed for the porn channels at every motel. The layers are coming off, and Sam is afraid of what happens afterward once Dean has stripped himself bare. He doesn't know what's happening to his brother and his helplessness is more frightening than anything else.

Dean is out buying some ammunition from a hunter he used to know when Sam backs Castiel into a corner. Castiel is just doing his rounds, checking up to see if they have any new leads and giving them his own status report.

"What happened," Sam says, "when Famine was in town . . . what happened to my brother?"

Castiel looks at him defiantly, as though maybe the events of that day are a secret between him and Dean. Sam momentarily thinks he should have trapped him, because Castiel could disappear at any second and leave him without an answer. But then Castiel makes a move toward the bed.

"May I?"

Sam nods, even though it's not his bed. He wonders if Castiel knows that, if he's somehow drawn to Dean's possessions. A brief surge of jealousy wells up, but he forces it down.

"Famine told Dean he felt no hunger because he was already dead inside." Castiel doesn't look at him as he says it, but his voice betrays emotion, quivering slightly. His eyes wander around the room, resting on all the banal, everyday objects as if he's seeing them for the first time.

Sam doesn't know how to respond. He can feel the anger replacing the jealousy and his hands clench into fists. He forces himself to relax again but his heart is beating double-time inside his chest.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asks, once he composes himself a little.

"I think . . . we both know Dean is not okay," Castiel says. He looks up to catch Sam's eyes now and stares fearlessly. "He's losing faith, Sam, it makes sense that he's slowly giving up."

"He's not giving up," Sam says, before he can stop himself. He has to believe it; if Dean loses faith then there's no hope for him. "He's not giving up."

Castiel sits quietly, studying Sam. His eyes are soft with disappointment, hurt. Sam wonders if Castiel would give it all back, would choose not to feel anymore. Then Castiel shifts on the bed to face Sam more properly. "I haven't been having any luck," he says evenly, changing the subject, "with the amulet."

Sam nods. He never really believed it would find God, and Castiel never relayed where he got the information from. He wonders where it is.

"It hasn't been responding to anything I try," Castiel continues. His face is carefully neutral, and Sam thinks that maybe Dean's been teaching him how to hide his emotions. "But I haven't lost hope. Not yet."

*

Sam tries to push Dean at girls in bars or entice him with greasy food on the road, but nothing takes. Dean waves it away with a false nonchalance, pretending like maybe he's just grown tired of it all. And maybe he has, maybe growing tired of it is giving up when it comes to his brother.

Sam worries, and he barely has time to think about how much his own appetite is suffering, about how his body sings out to be fed with power, with demon blood. He nearly faints on a routine poltergeist hunt in Arkansas and Dean barely freaks out. He's not sure which bothers him more; that his body is to shit or that his brother is giving up.

Dean talks more often now, but it's all small talk. The only thing of substance communicated between them is the next hunt, the supplies needed. Sam wants to fight Dean, wants to shake him out of this rut, this stupor, but always falls short, afraid to revert to silence, to a polite relationship.

"How long since you got laid?" he asks Dean in a bar. Dean is nursing a beer instead of doing shots, so he's mostly sober.

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Less time than since you have," he says, twisting his mouth into an almost believable smirk. He cuts his eyes away from Sam's but refuses to meet those of the bartender either. She's clearly interested, has been since they walked in here. The beers were free.

Sam says, "Cas told me about Famine, about what he said to you," because he doesn't know what else to say.

Dean goes rigid for a second but recovers quickly, his face going blank. "Yeah, well, the bastard was full of shit." He still refuses to meet Sam's eyes. "He said a lot of things."

"I don't know," Sam says, trying to egg Dean on, because even anger would be something at this point, "you don't seem yourself lately."

Dean doesn't take the bait, though, pushing his bar stool back and getting up without making a scene. "I'm gonna head home," he says, voice steely and level. He barely waves at the pretty bartender as he stalks out. Sam watches the door for a few minutes, not sure if he's waiting for Dean to storm back in.

"Trouble in paradise?" she asks, when she refills Sam's pint glass.

He meets her eyes and he must scare her, because she backs away quickly enough. When he leaves, he puts a twenty on the counter in apology.

*

Dean offers to do the laundry a few days later and Sam thinks he just wants an excuse to take a drive. But they're both running out of clothes and Dean offering to spend time in a laundromat is something Sam has learned he should take advantage of. He leaves to get them lunch, throwing his duffel and backpack at Dean.

He's fishing for change in his pocket when he realises that he left all of Dean's things in another pair of jeans. A momentary panic seizes him and he almost drops his entire order before forcing himself not to make a scene. Still, he's barely breathing right as he finishes paying for the food and books it back to the motel.

Dean's gone and so are the duffels. Sam thumbs his phone, thinks of calling, telling Dean to wait until he got there. But that would only make Dean curious, and even though they've got rules when it comes to their duffel bags, he threw his at Dean earlier and that counts as a free pass. He takes deep breaths and paces around the room.

It might not be that bad if Dean found them in his pocket. Maybe he'd even be grateful, Sam thinks, but he knows deep down that that's just wishful thinking. Dean would probably be furious. And what if they got lost in the washer? He can't bear to think of the pieces of his brother lost forever in some machine or sewer system, thrown aside like worthless trash.

Sam is shoving his way into the bathroom to rinse his face when the door doesn't open fully; behind it he finds his two cleanest shirts and his favourite pair of jeans pressed against the wall. Dean's things are still in the pockets. Relief washes over him and he gathers the clothes into his hands, glad for once at his carelessness when it came to cleaning up after a shower.

When Dean gets back he mentions in passing that Sam looks like hell, but Sam is still riding the high of relief and even offers to fold all their laundry. Dean throws the duffel bags at him, shrugging. He doesn't know what to make of the fact that Dean put the rag that Sam had saved in Sam's pile.

*

Sam can't believe his eyes when Dean throws his amulet away. It feels like his chest is suddenly too small for his heart, like his heart can't pump blood through his body. He stares at the trash can for a long while. His body won't move.

Eventually, he hears Dean hollering at him to get in the car. The only sound he really pays attention to is the repeat of the amulet hitting the bottom of the trash.

He fishes it out and puts it on, tucking it under his wifebeater. The metal is cold against his chest when he slips into the passenger seat.

Meeting Dean's eyes, or even talking to him, would be too much right now, so he closes his eyes and pretends to fall asleep. He knows Dean's not fooled, but at least this way his brother knows that Sam is not willing to talk right now.

If he's honest, he thinks, he should have seen this coming, called this turn of events awhile ago. He gets it, he really does; Castiel is disappointed, Dean is disappointed and hell, Sam is pretty disappointed himself. So God decides to fuck off and leave them to save the world themselves, Sam doesn't think he has any means of salvation still open to him and Dean, Dean is tired of being on the losing side.

Castiel comes back in Ohio. He says, "I don't know why you're keeping that thing," as he sits down on the bed. It's Dean's bed again, and it hasn't been slept in because apparently sleep is also one of the things Dean is going to do without from this point forward.

Sam doesn't move to answer Castiel, but he finds himself speaking anyway. "It's important. Maybe not for finding God," he says, voice rising, "but it's still important." He can feel the blood in his face, his skin going hot with it.

He sits across from Castiel and looks down at his hands. They're shaking. "How do you know I kept it?"

Castiel doesn't answer, but Sam thinks maybe he can feel it like he can feel Dean's things. His jealousy rears its head again, but he doesn't pay it any attention. He has to believe he still has a bond with his brother.

"Why did you give it to him?" Castiel asks, cocking his head to the side. He looks like he's trying to understand some fundamental human psychology and coming up short.

"It was for Christmas," Sam says weakly. He doesn't want to tell the story and relive it once more.

"Was it special," Castiel asks, "I mean, before I thought it could--"

"No," Sam says, "it wasn't special until after."

He continues wringing his hands, expecting another question. When he looks up, Castiel has disappeared.

*

They circumnavigate Michigan in a ridiculous loop because Dean refuses to drive on any highway that even leads to Detroit. This cuts down their options considerably.

"I'm not saying yes, Dean," Sam says tiredly as they turn onto some back road, gravel crunching loudly beneath the tires. Dean has been watching him closely, as though he thinks there's an invisible force pulling Sam toward Detroit, toward Lucifer.

"I know," Dean says. He doesn't sound convinced and he won't look at his brother. And then Sam breaks—he's had enough.

He grabs the steering wheel, yanking it to the side; Dean reacts immediately, pulling over onto the emergency lane and slamming the breaks. His eyes are wide with shock, but it slowly turns to fear as though he imagines Sam might change right now, right in front of him. Sam laughs mirthlessly.

"This is me, Dean."

Dean doesn't seem certain; his shoulders are still up to his ears, his body tense and primed for a fight.

Sam catches his eyes. "You fucking think I'm going to say yes, don't you? After all this, after how hard we've been trying you really think I'm going to say yes." He slams his back against the seat and the car rocks.

Dean opens his mouth but decides better than to say something. Sam sees his hand flexing, like Dean might reach for a weapon.

It's silent for a minute as Sam watches Dean watch him. He feels angry at putting that fear, that distrust into his brother's eyes, but more than that he feels helpless, because the one person he needed to convince he was good refuses to see it. He slams his hand on the dashboard and tries not to let his frustration turn to tears. He doesn't know how to make Dean believe him.

"Calm down, Sam," Dean says, trying too hard to keep his voice level. He reaches a hand out to touch Sam's shoulder.

"Look, Dean, I know it's fucked up, and I know that barely anyone's on our side but you can't just give up on . . . you can't just give up. You don't get to do that."

"You don't think I'm tired of trying, of watching everything go to shit, Sam! What is this really about?" Dean is losing his own calm now, fingers back on the steering wheel and gripping tight. "If you want to talk then just say so. What is it?"

"Nothing," Sam says, deflating, pushing himself back into his seat. The fight has gone out of him and he turns away from Dean to stare at the highway.

The car is silent for a moment before Dean turns the ignition and gets them back onto the road. No one says a word and the highway carries them across the state line and into Indiana.

*

Sam is settled in bed, waiting for Dean to turn off the bathroom light and go to sleep himself. He hears Dean brushing his teeth and flossing before the customary mouthwash. He idly wonders how come Dean hasn't given up these, the more useless, rituals.

Afterward, he hears Dean's heavy footfall as he goes to the toilet and then the sound of Dean pissing fills the room. He shifts again, waiting for Dean to just finish already. He slides his hand under the pillow and fingers Dean's ring, his broken bracelet, the items he's saving for later.

The light in the bathroom clicks off and then he hears Dean wandering around in the room. But then it all stops and he doesn't hear the creak of the bed springs. Curious, he rolls onto his back to search for Dean in the dark.

Dean is standing beside his bed, silhouette perfectly backlit by the headlights outside. He waits, tense, for Dean to move before he understands. He shifts over a little bit, offering Dean the space he couldn't or wouldn't ask for.

It takes a moment for Dean to take the offering, and Sam thinks, for a cruel second, that he's going to be rejected, that Dean isn't making peace. The idea stings deep inside him. But then Dean pitches forward and slides in next to Sam. He lies on his back, but Sam can feel his body heat down his side.

"Why were you keeping all my . . . all my stuff?" Dean whispers.

Sam doesn't have a real answer to that question and he wonders how Dean knows, anyway. He doesn't know why they're whispering but he pitches his voice low and quiet too. "I thought--you might want it back someday, you know. Maybe after all this?"

Dean lets out a deep breath but doesn't move.

"You didn't keep them all these years because they mean nothing to you, Dean," he tries. He feels his heart beat desperately in his chest, willing him to not be the only one who wants things to change, to get better. He just wants Dean to be himself again, because that means there's hope for him too.

"I believe you," Dean says, and Sam's mind reels for a second as he tries to follow the non sequitur. "I know you're not gonna say yes. It's not you I'm worried about."

"Dean--"

"I'm tired of letting everyone down. I'm fucking exhausted, Sammy."

Sam registers the nickname belatedly, a small, warm bubble of hope expanding in his chest. He says, "Makes two of us."

Dean turns onto his side to look at Sam. "I'm sorry."

"Me too." Sam shifts a little, until his face is right next to Dean's. He wants to close the gap, to feel Dean's lips on his but he's letting Dean call the shots here because he's not sure he'll know how to stop.

Dean sighs, leans forward and presses his mouth to Sam's. It's soft but it goes on a little longer than a chaste kiss should. Sam doesn't manage to stop himself from chasing Dean's lips a little way after it breaks. Dean looks fond and amused, and it may be the tiniest hint of a smile, but it feels like the first sunshine in a year of colorless winter. He grins back.

The next kiss is deeper, Dean's full lips pressing hard against his own until he opens his mouth and Dean can slide his tongue inside. The angle is off, but Dean is good at this and it doesn't matter, anyway, because Sam is perfectly content with it.

He's unceremoniously shoved onto his side as Dean fashions him into the little spoon. Sam doesn't go easily but he doesn't protest it too much either, happy to have Dean's hands, Dean's skin against his own. Afterward, Dean curls up behind him, throwing his arm over Sam. His palm lands against Sam's chest.

He feels Dean's fingers flex against his muscles, playing with the amulet beneath his threadbare shirt. Dean traces the cord up to Sam's neck and back down to his collarbone. "Christ," Dean says, but he sounds awed and Sam thinks that has to be a good thing.

"I, uh, I thought I should keep it someplace I wouldn't lose it," he says, leaning backward into Dean. He can feel Dean's dick, half hard and already pressing insistently against the curve of his ass.

Dean chuckles soundlessly, just the vibration passing through his chest and into Sam's back; there are no words for how much Sam missed this kind of contact. "Better than in your back pocket," Dean says. "Washing machine would've ate them up if it wasn't for me."

Sam feels his face flush and he thinks about telling Dean where they are now, right underneath his head, but he settles for later. He intertwines his fingers with Dean's and leads them downward to curl around his cock. He's pretty much completely hard and aching for Dean.

Dean presses a kiss to his neck and slides his hand into Sam's shorts; his hand is warm and big around Sam's cock and Sam jerks like he's been shot. His whine is embarrassing but Dean doesn't say anything except Sam's name. He's rocking against Sam's ass too, thrusting hard and slow and deliberate.

They get off like that, like they did when they were teenagers. Sam comes so hard he thinks he might never be able to move again, but then Dean coaxes him onto his back and climbs on top. Dean comes a moment later, sliding his dick against Sam's hip, moaning and swearing and biting into Sam's shoulder, teeth digging hard into the flesh.

The bruise will probably be there for a few days, even through the cotton, and Sam thinks it's perfect because he was planning on giving Dean back his necklace as soon as he had brain function again. This way, he'll still be wearing his brother for a little while.

Just as Sam is about to fall asleep, Dean pokes him hard in the side and says, "Give it back."

Sam says, "Come and get it."

fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [](http:)Nothing's a Gift by Wisława Szymborska. This is a gift, though, for neros_violin who is still patiently waiting for me to write her Help Haiti fic. ♥


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